


Nitesky

by thepsychicclam



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, ignores all s4 spoilers, post 3b
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 14:50:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1432486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepsychicclam/pseuds/thepsychicclam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>A figure crests the edge of the house. Stiles squints in the sparse light of the half-moon, and is shocked when he sees that it’s Derek. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>“What are you doing?” Stiles asks quietly.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>Derek finishes climbing up onto the roof in one graceful swoop, and then he crosses the slanted surface quickly. </i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>“This is dangerous,” Derek greets as he takes the spot beside Stiles. “You could fall and break your neck.”</i></p><p> </p><p>Stiles has trouble dealing with the after effects of the nogitsune, and Derek finds him sitting on his roof.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nitesky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inyron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inyron/gifts).
  * Translation into Polski available: [Nocnoniebie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5603734) by [lilyan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilyan/pseuds/lilyan)



> Written for Evelyn for the Sterek Campaign! :D

Stiles doesn’t sleep, not really. He curls into bed, staving off panic as he tosses and turns, afraid to close his eyes and afraid to fall into a dream. Afraid that despite of being back to “normal” he will start losing time and wake up to watching the world through the eyes of a monster.

Stiles smiles and laughs and jokes, shoves Isaac back when he crashes into him with a smirk on his face; goes over to Scott’s and plays video games late into the night. He eats turkey and puts up tinsel along with his father during the holidays, keeps most of his smiles for him. The sheriff still watches Stiles when he thinks Stiles can’t see him, like he’s making sure it’s really his son beneath the skin stretched over bone. Stiles just tries extra hard to make his father believe that it’s him, or what’s left of him.

Beacon Hills calms down after they defeat the nogitsune. Everyone grieves for Allison, each day harder and easier at the same time, which Stiles guesses is just the conundrum of life. He wishes he could mourn for Allison more, but that would require opening up a whole section of himself that he’s not ready to deal with. Nothing jumps out of the woods coming to get them, the Nemeton settles, everyone has a chance to breathe and rest and heal. They get through Thanksgiving and Christmas. Stiles buys presents, bakes cookies, watches _Rudolph._

Every night he disappears upstairs and fights a battle with himself. The nogitsune might be gone, but the demons are still there.

*

Stiles blinks into the sun, shielding his eyes against the January afternoon. The lacrosse field is a flurry of activity, his teammates running back and forth along the field, ball passing from crosse to crosse.

“Stilinski!” Finstock shouts and Stiles turns to him. “You aren’t king of the bench, get your butt off that poor excuse for a throne and get out there!”

Stiles stares at the field, thinks about running out there beside Scott, Isaac, and Danny. Thinks about running across the grass, the feeling of solid bodies slamming into him before he falls onto the ground. He throws his crosse down and walks the opposite way, starts towards the showers.

“Stilinski!” Finstock runs up behind him, grabs his arm. “Where the hell are you going?”

“Home,” Stiles says, and Finstock shakes his head.

“Kid, what’s wrong? You look worse than my grandma after she wrestled with an alligator down in the Louisiana bayou, and let me tell you, that wasn’t pretty.” Coach’s eyes soften just a bit. “You’re failing econ.”

“I know.” Stiles scrubs a hand through his hair.

“You missed weeks of class last semester, and now you’re barely there when you’re in the seat. I asked you a question the other day, and you didn’t know the answer, Stiles, or try to make up an answer not even remotely related.” Finstock grips his shoulder and squeezes. But then the moment passes and Finstock shakes Stiles hard. “You’re not quitting lacrosse. Get your stick and get out on that field with McCall and Lahey, and one of you better come off that field with a bruise! Or I’m going to bruise all of you!” Finstock pushes Stiles back towards the bleachers. Reluctantly, Stiles grabs his crosse and jogs out onto the field. 

Scott and Isaac come running up to him, and Scott slaps his arm as Isaac slaps his ass. “You okay, man? I saw you talking to Finstock.”

“Oh that,” Stiles says, hand gesturing behind him towards the field. “Constant reminder that I’m failing econ.”

Scott gives him an encouraging smile. “You’ll bring it up. By the end of the semester, you’ll have an A. I have faith in you.” He beams at Stiles, and Stiles plasters the smile on his face. “You sure you okay?”

“I’m fine.” If Scott hears the lie, he doesn’t call Stiles on it.

*

That night, Stiles tosses and turns for two hours before he gets out of bed. He stops in front of his dad’s room, the door cracked, and just listens to his deep, even breaths. It calms him some, but he can’t face his bed again, so he pads silently to the attic and steps out onto the roof. He leans back against the rough tile and stares at the sky, watches the bright white pinpoints of light above him. His eyes try to make sense of the shapes, outline constellations, find sense in a senseless smattering of dots.

After his mom died, Stiles used to come out onto the roof a lot, on nights when his room was suffocating, the house closing in as he listened to his dad’s drunken mumbles and the unfillable emptiness. He thought he’d never have cause to step out onto the roof again, but there he was, lying underneath the vast emptiness, the weight of the futility of life pressing the breath from him.

He stays out there until he’s nodding off, and he’d just sleep out there if he wasn’t afraid he’d roll off the roof and kill himself. The hours surrounded by nothing but openness must do the trick, because when he falls back onto his bed, he drifts off for a few blissful hours.

*

The next night, Stiles does the same thing. A few hours on the rooftop, a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. The third night, he’s home alone, his dad working the late shift. His mind is reciting all the African capitals when he hears a noise. He starts, wonders how he’s supposed to fight off a burglar and if he can make it downstairs to the nearest phone to dial 911 when a figure crests the edge of the house. Stiles squints in the sparse light of the half-moon, and is shocked when he sees that it’s Derek. 

“What are you doing?” Stiles asks quietly.

Derek finishes climbing up onto the roof in one graceful swoop, and then he crosses the slanted surface quickly. Stiles is impressed, even though he knows it’s werewolf agility. He knows he’d fall to his death if he even attempted to venture beyond his spot right outside the window.

“This is dangerous,” Derek greets him as he takes the spot beside Stiles. “You could fall and break your neck.”

“Thank you, Obvious McWolf for that stunning nugget of knowledge.” Even in the dark, Stiles can see Derek’s glare. “What are you doing on my roof?”

“What are you doing on your roof?” Derek counters.

“Dude, it’s my roof.” 

Instead of saying anything, Derek stares out over the dark neighborhood. Most of the houses are dark, save for a few with the flickering lights from a television. Stiles shoots glances Derek’s way, confused about his sudden appearance on the roof.

“Why are you here?” Stiles asks again. Derek goes to stand, and Stiles surprises himself when he reaches out and grabs Derek’s arm to stop him. Derek glances at Stiles’ hand and then drops back to the roof. “You don’t have to leave,” Stiles says. He didn’t even know he wanted anyone there until Derek showed up, and now he suddenly doesn’t want to be alone. Which makes no sense, but Stiles has stopped trying to make things make sense, so he goes with it.

“I caught your scent,” Derek says after a few minutes. 

“Why were you even here?” Stiles asks. Derek doesn’t answer, and after a few beats, Stiles’ brain catches up. “You were checking up on me.”

Derek doesn’t deny it.

“Is that what you do at night, skulk around in the dark outside our houses? I’m starting to feel mighty uncomfortable about some of my night time activities.” Derek rolls his eyes so hard his head joins in the motion. “Please tell me you’ve never come by during Stiles time.” Derek look sideways at him, eyebrow raised. “Fuck, you have. Great. As long as you’ve caught the rest of the Pack in embarrassing situations…” Derek nods, and at least Stiles isn’t the only one Derek has embarrassing stories about. “So, what, is this an Alpha thing? Cause you know, Scott’s technically the Alpha now, even though you may still have lingering Alpha feelings, cause I don’t even have a clue how all that works, and Scott’s definitely no help on that end because he barely understands – “

“It’s not an Alpha thing,” Derek interrupts.

Stiles nods, chewing his lip thoughtfully as he lays back against the roof. Derek mirrors him, and after all that Stiles has been through, it shouldn’t be weird that he was lying side by side on his roof in the middle of the night with Derek. But it totally is.

“Then it’s a Derek thing,” Stiles says after a few minutes. Derek makes a quiet confused noise, and Stiles elaborates, “The checking on your Pack. It’s not an Alpha thing, it’s a Derek thing.”

Somehow, that makes Stiles not feel so alone.

*

Scott leans close and sniffs him before first period the next morning. “You smell like Derek. When did you see him?”

“Um, last night,” Stiles replies as he slams his locker shut. “He…well, I think he came by to check on me. I guess, I don’t really know why he was there.”

“Derek Hale. Came by to check on you,” Scott says in disbelief. Stiles shrugs. “Are you okay? Did you need someone? Did you call Derek? I know I’ve been going through stuff, but Stiles, you’re my best friend you can always call me if you need me.”

Stiles looks at his friend, sees the sincerity that belies the obvious pain and wounds Scott is still carrying around. Stiles wonders if Scott will ever heal, or if he’ll go to his grave with an angry, bleeding wound etched with the name _Allison_. For some reason, just knowing that despite Scott’s own problems he’s worried about Stiles makes him smile.

“I’m okay, buddy. Derek just showed up. Who knows why, he’s just weird.”

Scott claps Stiles on the arm as they start towards first period. “Wanna hang out tonight? Video games, maybe?”

“Sure.”

They spend two hours playing classic NES fighting games, and Stiles realizes at some point his laughter isn’t forced, his smiles aren’t fake. He’s pretty sure Scott’s aren’t either.

*

Stiles isn’t surprised when Derek climbs onto the roof that night. For some reason, Stiles had been expecting it.

“You seem happier,” Derek says as he sits down. 

“Hung out with Scott. I had a good time without forcing myself to have a good time.”

“That’s good,” Derek says, and lays back against the roof.

“Do you know astronomy? Stars and constellations?”

“No.”

“Too bad, make it up.”

Derek drops his head to the side and scowls at Stiles. “No.”

“Derek, come on, humor me,” Stiles whines. “You’re the one up on my roof in the middle of the night. The least you can do is make up fake constellations for me.”

“That makes absolutely no sense,” Derek says.

“Don’t care.” Stiles points overhead. “See those stars? They’re in the shape of palm trees, which obviously means they’re supposed to be part of a beach scene. We just can’t see the rest of the beach because those stars are too faint to be seen. Damn light pollution.”

“Stiles, what are you – “

“ _Palm trees, Derek. In a constellation._ ”

Derek huffs an irritated breath through his nose. “They’re missing the coconuts.”

Stiles bursts out laughing. Stiles laughs so hard he almost falls off the roof, causing Derek to grab his arm and hold him in place. Stiles laughs so hard there are tears running down his face, and he’s pretty sure he’s hysterical. Derek’s looking at him like he’s lost his mind.

“Coconuts,” Stiles says, sobering a little as he chuckles and wipes his eyes.

“It wasn’t that funny,” Derek says, eyeing Stiles like he’s not sure what to do with him.

“Dude, from you it was fucking hilarious.” Stiles turns back to the fake palm tree constellation, and starts giggling again. “Coconuts.”

*

“That one’s called Lupus Grumpius,” Stiles points to a cluster of stars the next night. “It means the Grumpy Wolf.”

“I’m aware of what it means,” Derek drawls.

“Just making sure.”

A few minutes pass before Derek says, “Those stars make up the rest of Lupus Grumpius’ Pack.”

Stiles’s eyes trace from the tip of Derek’s finger to a mass of bright stars. “It’s a small Pack.”

“That’s okay,” Derek says, “it’s a good Pack. A strong Pack.”

“Are there human members?” Stiles asks.

“Yes, that’s what makes it so strong.”

Stiles rolls over onto his side and looks at Derek thoughtfully. “Is that true?”

“What?”

“That human members make a Pack strong.”

Derek rolls to face Stiles, his eyes reflecting the light from the bright waxing moon. “Yes.”

“I thought they’d make it weak. That we were weak because of me, because of…Allison.” He whispers the word, barely a sound, but he knows Derek caught it before it drifted into the night.

“You’re not weak, Stiles,” Derek says. 

“I was weaker than Scott and Allison,” Stiles mutters. “That’s why – “

“No,” Derek snaps. Stiles glances at him. “That’s not true. That’s not how those things work.”

“Then why me?” Stiles asks, and he hates the way his voice betrays him, how he sounds so vulnerable and young. Weak.

“I can’t answer that,” Derek replies, more softly than before. “Why does anything happen to any of us? You’ll drive yourself crazy asking why. Trust me.”

“How can humans make a Pack stronger?” Stiles asks, shifting the conversation slightly. “We’re just liabilities.”

“You’re not,” Derek says. “There’s nothing wrong with being human, you know.”

“Tell me that again when you’re not the only one in the middle of a supernatural freak show.”

Derek gives him a small smile, and Stiles tries to ignore the way his insides flutter.

*

That night Stiles has nightmares. He dreams that he cuts out Scott’s heart, right after he cuts out Allison’s, and they’re lying side by side, dead eyes staring at him. He tastes the blood when he bites into Scott’s heart, and he wakes up screaming.

The only comfort he has is that his dad’s at work and doesn’t hear him.

*

Scott and Isaac stick to his side at school, and even Lydia tells him he looks like shit. He couldn’t fall asleep after he woke up from the nightmare, had a mild panic attack as he lay there with his eyes closed, so he got maybe an hour of sleep.

After his dad leaves for his night shift, Stiles is sitting at his desk, staring blankly down at the homework he’s been attempting, when he hears his window slide open. He blinks and looks over just as Derek’s feet land on the carpet without a sound.

“What’s wrong?” Stiles asks.

“I was going to ask you the same thing.” Stiles looks at Derek in confusion. “You weren’t on the roof, and you seem…off,” Derek explains as he steps further inside the house. Stiles notices the clock reads just after midnight. He’d been staring at his text book for over three hours. For a second, he has a flash of panic and his heartbeat skyrockets. But then he realizes there were no waking dreams, no possession. Just exhaustion and a bit of ADHD. He holds out his hands and counts his fingers just to make sure.

Stiles leans back in his desk chair and rubs his hands roughly over his face. He feels like screaming, feels like breaking everything in his room, feels like crawling into a hole and dying.

“Come on,” Derek says, and Stiles turns around just in time to see him bending down to grab a hoodie off the floor. He tosses it at Stiles’ head. “Where are your shoes?”

“What?” Stiles watches, his brain like cotton as Derek searches around the room for Stiles’ shoes, finally finding them under his book bag and a stack of books. He drops them at Stiles’ feet. “I’m in my pajamas.”

Derek shrugs. “Put on pants if you want; it doesn’t really matter.”

Stiles figures what the hell, and stuffs his feet into his sneakers and pulls the hoodie on over his t-shirt. He doesn’t bother changing out of his pajama bottoms, green ones with shamrocks on them, because if no one likes his lucky pj pants, then they can get over it. 

Stiles follows Derek through the house, down the stairs, and out the front door. He’s closed the door and is reaching for his pants pockets when he suddenly darts back inside because he realizes he forgot his keys. Derek already has the Camaro cranked and ready when Stiles manages to exit the house again and lock the door. Stiles slides into the passenger side, dropping his keys onto the console after he buckles his seatbelt.

“Where are we going?”

“Where do you want to go?”

Stiles just stares at Derek. “Dude, dragging me out of the house after midnight – which let’s hope my father never finds out about because I know he’ll be pissed, though leaving in the middle of the night for a non-supernatural reason might just – “

“Stiles.”

“This was your idea,” Stiles redirects his thoughts. “You obviously had a plan when you kidnapped me.”

“How is this kidnapping?” Derek asks as he whips the car out of the driveway and speeds off. “You willingly came with me. All I had to do was give you a hoodie and shoes.”

“Damn it, I’m just too easy.” A smirk plays around Derek’s mouth, and Stiles feels those flutters again. He stamps them down. “So, Derek, what’s your big plan? Stalk the rest of the Pack? Drive to Vegas and gamble? Rob a liquor store?”

Derek glances over at Stiles like he’s an idiot. “What is wrong with you?”

“Plenty. I can give you a detailed list, starting with the time Ricky Smith pushed me into the dirt in kindergarten and made me eat dirt – with a worm in it, might I add – and ending with recent events of the evil possession variety.”

“You can talk about it, you know,” Derek says softly, surprising Stiles.

“You’re actually encouraging me to talk about it?”

“I don’t mind listening to you talk,” Derek says. Stiles is not sure he believes him. Derek grips the steering wheel tightly, and looks uncomfortable as he works his mouth, trying to get the words out. Stiles leans back against the door and watches him in amusement. “Have you,” Derek starts, then he takes a deep breath and Stiles can see his body tense like forming words is physically painful for him. Knowing Derek, it probably is. “Have you talked to anyone about it? About what you saw, what it did?”

All the amusement fades as Stiles turns over the fact that Derek Hale just asked Stiles to talk about…the thing. Stiles replays the words in his head, and wait – “It?” The word is almost inaudible. “You said it, not me. Not what I did.”

“Stiles, you didn’t do those things,” Derek says gently. “Everyone knows that. You should know it.”

“But…I watched it. My hands, my body killed those people. I was…too weak to stop it,” Stiles looks at his hands, curling in on himself. “Helpless.”

Suddenly, there’s a warm, strong hand on his arm. Stiles looks at it, confused. Derek’s touching him. No, wait, that’s not correct. Derek’s _comforting_ him. 

Derek doesn’t say anything; he squeezes Stiles’ forearm encouragingly. Then, he leaves his hand on Stiles’ arm as they drive through the dark night.

*

“A diner?” Stiles asks when Derek pulls the car into the parking lot about an hour later. “You drove fifty miles for a diner? At one in the morning?”

Derek turns off the car and shrugs. “I’m hungry.” Stiles shakes his head as he gets out of the car. When they’re seated at a table and Stiles is glancing over the menu, Derek not even bothering to look at his, he says, “Besides, it’s not just any diner.”

Stiles looks up in curiosity. “Oh?”

“This was my dad and Laura’s favorite place to eat,” Derek states. The words come easily, and Stiles notices Derek’s body is only slightly tense. He wonders when he started noticing enough about the state of Derek’s body when he talked about his family that he is able to discern that it seems to be easier for Derek to talk about them now. “Once a month, we’d drive all the way here on a Saturday morning for breakfast.”

Stiles looks around with interest. It looks like any typical roadside diner, with crappy old booths and a long counter with stools. He has a flash of the Hale family barreling in, all good looks and werewolf appetites, scaring poor waitresses when they forget the bacon or to refill the coffee. Stiles smiles.

The waitress comes to the table then, and Derek orders a loaded omelet and hash browns with cheese, and Stiles gets a Belgian pecan waffle. Now that he’s here and surrounded by the smell of grease, he’s starving.

“Omelet what you used to get?” Stiles asks. 

Derek nods. “Cora always ate pancakes, and Laura just made her way through the menu. T-bone steak for breakfast was one of her favorites.”

“Let me guess, morning after the full moon?” Stiles jokes.

Derek gives him what Stiles has deemed his wolfish grin. “Yep. We all did, if we came in after the full moon. Waitress would always give us weird looks. We’d be covered in dirt, with leaves and sticks in our hair, ordering steak for breakfast.” Derek laughs quietly to himself, his eyes faraway with memory. 

Stiles feels something flutter again, but thinks it’s probably not the time.

“My mom liked hot wings,” Stiles tells Derek a few minutes later. He’s stirring his straw around in his glass of Sprite, which Derek insisted that he ordered ( _you don’t need any caffeine, Stiles, you need to sleep_ ). “Fridays, if my dad was off duty, we’d go to her favorite restaurant and eat wings and fries. I didn’t like them, so she always let me get chicken tenders. I had just started developing a taste for wings when she got sick.” Stiles smiles sadly. “When my dad was on duty, she’d get our usual order as take out, and we’d go eat with him down at the station.”

“Sounds nice.”

Stiles nods. “After she died, I still ate dinners with him during a few of his late nights. When I turned 16, I made sure I still drove there for dinner. My favorite nights were the nights he took me on patrol and let me play with his radio. He said as long as I didn’t touch any of the buttons and mess anything up, I could pretend all I wanted. I used to wear his jacket and sunglasses, use an old wallet I made into a badge, and yell into the radio and pretend I was in pursuit of bad guys.” Stiles looks up when he hears a chuckle, and he realizes that Derek is laughing. He’s about to make a sarcastic comment about it, but their food arrives. He’s glad it stops the comment; he wouldn’t want to ruin the moment. He made Derek _laugh_.

After they tear into their food, Stiles making filthy noises at the perfection that is his waffle, he glances across the table at Derek. Derek’s eyes are closed, and he’s taking small, deliberate bites, chewing and swallowing with a small smile on his face.

Derek must feel Stiles’ eyes on him, because he opens them and looks straight at Stiles. Their eyes remain locked for a few moments, until it’s way past the length for any sort of casualness. Stiles feels his cheeks heat, and there’s a softness to Derek’s eyes that’s unfamiliar to him.

Stiles pulls his eyes down to his waffle, definitely deciding not to try to determine the look in Derek’s eyes. He doesn’t want to go there right now.

The night is too perfect, with its bad jukebox music, decaffeinated sodas, diner breakfast, and most importantly, Derek sitting across from him.

*

They’re sitting on top of the roof a week later, the moon close to full. Derek’s sitting up, his face turned towards the sky, towards the moon. The moonlight bathes him in a silvery-white glow, making him look even less human and more beautiful than usual.

“How does it feel?” Stiles asks. “Scott said it was hard to control, that it was like losing your mind to something. That…” Stiles shudders, picks at one of his toenails. “That doesn’t sound good at all.”

“It’s harder for a bitten wolf,” Derek explains. “They’re not used to it, and it is like something taking over. It’s dangerous, and it’s deadly.” Stiles nods, wonders if being a werewolf is like being possessed, if Scott understands more about the way he feels than he thought. “It’s part of me, so I don’t think about it. I love the moon, I love the way it feels against my skin. I love the current running through my bones, from the top of my head to the tips of my fingers. I love the wolf side, but because I can control it, because I can anchor it.”

“Sounds complicated,” Stiles mutters. 

“It’s hard to explain.”

Stiles nods. Maybe it’s like them, Stiles thinks. Hard to explain why it feels comfortable to be sitting on the rooftop night after night in the cold, side by side with Derek. He still barely knows Derek, only has months of fighting and a few anecdotes that Derek’s shared over the last week. But Stiles realizes he knows more about Derek than anyone, and he wonders why that makes him so happy. 

“How late is it?” Stiles asks, pulling off his hoodie and wrapping his bare feet with it. He’s usually so much more mindful of the cold, wearing socks and slippers and warm pajamas when he comes out here. He had just been so eager to get outside and meet Derek that he forgot.

“Around 1:30,” Derek says, shrugging off his jacket. He hands it to Stiles wordlessly, and Stiles stares at it for a moment before he takes it and pulls it on. It’s so warm against the chill he was ignoring, Derek’s body heat trapped inside the soft, worn material. Stiles pulls it around himself tightly and inhales. He can smell Derek’s aftershave and something earthy. 

It smells like comfort.

“Are you tired?” Stiles asks.

“Not really, why?”

“I think I’m ready to talk about it.”

Derek turns to Stiles and studies him for a moment. “You sure?”

Stiles nods, and Derek turns back to the moon. Stiles thinks it’s for him, that maybe Derek thinks it’ll be easier for Stiles to talk without him staring, watching him like the monster he feels like he is. Derek’s right.

Stiles wraps the jacket closer around him, holding on to it for support as the words fall out of his mouth. He’s pretty sure they don’t make any sense, they’re not organized in some logical manner, just coming out in a stream-of-consciousness ramble. Derek remains quiet, and Stiles admits things he’s not sure he’s admitted to himself.

He admits how he felt connected to the nogitsune’s emotions sometimes, how there were moments he thought he’d lost himself because he was pleased with the chaos and death. He tells Derek how hard it was to separate himself, how it took everything he had to remain Stiles at the core.

He tells Derek he feels responsible for Allison’s death, felt the triumph when the nogitsune stabbed her, felt the fear when she killed that Oni. He admits he’s afraid to look Lydia and Scott in the eye, whispers into the night that he thinks Scott will hate him because of what he did to Allison.

Stiles says things he didn’t even realize he felt, remembers things he wish would stay buried. 

By the time he’s finished, he’s shaking and his eyes are wet, and Derek’s got his hands in both of his own, his face still turned towards the moon.

*

“Thanks for lending me your jacket,” Stiles says when they step back into the attic a few hours later. It’s later than usual, after 4 a.m. “And for listening.”

Derek doesn’t say anything, just nods as he grabs the proffered jacket. He follows Stiles downstairs, and after Stiles returns from the bathroom, Derek’s sitting on the edge of the bed with his boots off and neatly lined up by the armchair. 

“What are you doing?” Stiles asks through a yawn.

“You need to sleep.”

“Yes,” Stiles says suspiciously. “Why aren’t you wearing shoes?” 

Derek leans back against the pillow and brings his socked feet up. Stiles stares at them like he’s never seen something like it before, Derek Hale wearing black and grey striped socks. Derek pats the bed beside him. “Sleep, Stiles.”

“Just because I bared my soul to you in an embarrassing moment of weakness doesn’t mean you have to watch over me or anything. Go home, Derek. Go back to your wolfy den. I can sleep by myself.” Stiles sits on the bed awkwardly, realizing that he’s never had someone in his bed like this except for Scott. And that really isn’t what he should be thinking about right now.

Derek rolls his eyes and refuses to move. Stiles yawns again, and Derek looks at him pointedly. “Fine. I’m going to sleep.” Stiles crawls into bed and fusses with the covers until he’s somewhat comfortable. Derek turns off the bedside lamp, and Stiles is suddenly aware that he’s lying in his bed. In the dark. With Derek.

“It’s not weakness,” Derek whispers behind Stiles. Stiles makes a small noise, and Derek continues, “Keeping it all in isn’t good, take it from me. Talking about it doesn’t make you weak.”

“That’s ironic coming from you,” Stiles mutters sleepily. As he’s drifting off, he feels light fingers in his hair, and then a warm hand on his back.

He feels safe; he feels comforted. He feels lighter than he has since he came back.

*

Stiles rolls over, and the first thing he notices is that the bed is empty beside him. He tamps down the disappointment, which is easy since the second thing he notices is that the sunlight filtering through the window is brighter than usual. He cracks open an eye and sees that he’s late for school.

Derek, damn him! He turned off Stiles’ alarm.

There are five texts on Stiles’ phone from Scott wondering where Stiles is. Stiles shoots Derek an angry text as he’s throwing on clothes and rushing downstairs, and he’s halfway to school when he gets the reply.

_You were sleeping soundly when I left. Rest is more important._

Stiles really wants to be mad, but he just can’t. Which is just plain annoying.

*

“Dude, where have you been?” Scott asks when he finds him right before fourth period. He missed the first three periods, but at least he’s passing all those classes. “And why do you smell like Derek? Again.”

“I overslept,” Stiles says, slamming his locker shut. “And I hung out with Derek last night.”

“You sure do hang out with him a lot,” Scott says. 

“I thought you liked Derek,” Stiles replies defensively.

Scott sighs. “I do. I just…” He frowns as he looks at Stiles, and Stiles thinks he can detect a hint of jealousy in Scott’s voice. “I’m worried about you. And I miss you.”

Stiles gives Scott a crooked smile. “Miss you too, buddy. Don’t worry, Derek’s not stealing your BFF badge. That belongs to you and only to you.” Scott’s grin is blinding, and Stiles walks with him through the halls, chatting about nothing. 

Stiles knows that Derek’s not stealing Scott’s badge, because Derek’s badge would say something very different than BFF on it.

*

They’re at the diner again, but it’s around 10 this time. Derek told Stiles that he needed to start going to sleep earlier, but Stiles said he’d only go to sleep after another pecan waffle. Derek didn’t need much convincing.

When their food comes, Derek reaches into his pocket and pulls out his cell phone. He snaps a picture of their food and then starts texting.

“Cora?” Stiles guesses.

Derek nods. “She’ll get a kick out of this.” He pauses as he concentrates, his fingers moving over the touch screen with less ease and grace than most people Stiles knows. “I should have brought Cora here when she was in town,” Derek says as he sets his phone aside. “There was a lot I should have done with Cora when she was here.”

“How is she doing?” Stiles asks, pouring more syrup on his waffle. Derek had made fun of him last time they’d been here, told Stiles no one should ever eat that much sugar, especially him. Derek was right, because Stiles was bouncing off the walls the rest of the night, until Derek threatened to throw him off the roof when they were back at the house.

“Fine,” Derek says. There’s a sadness in his voice, and Stiles wonders not for the first time why Cora left. Maybe it’s the sugar, maybe it’s their new-found camaraderie, but Stiles goes for it and asks Derek about Cora.

Surprisingly, he tells Stiles. Derek even takes out his phone and pulls up pictures of Cora, Peter, and him sightseeing in South America – “before those fucking hunters grabbed us,” Derek adds bitterly. 

Hunters, Stiles thinks, he hadn’t know Derek had a run in with hunters. Stiles wants to ask about that, but he figures that’s another story for another night. He’s learned that Derek doesn’t mind talking when he’s in the mood, but Stiles has also learned that pushing Derek is a surefire way to make him clam up.

Stiles just adds South American hunters to the long list of things he wants to ask Derek about one day.

“I have an econ test tomorrow,” Stiles says while they’re waiting for their check. “I have to make an A on it. I can’t fail econ. I can’t make a B in econ.”

“Are you ready for it?” Derek asks.

Stiles shrugs. “I’ve been studying all week.”

“Just relax,” Derek says. “You’ll psych yourself out if you stress. Do your best; I’m sure you’ll do great.”

“You sound like my big brother,” Stiles grumbles.

“Well, I am a big brother,” Derek says as the waitress drops off the check. Stiles lays a wad of cash on the counter, and exits before Derek finishes paying. He crosses his arms over his chest petulantly, not sure why Derek’s comment upset him so badly. It’s stupid, he’s stupid, this whole thing is stupid. 

Derek unlocks the car as soon he steps out of the diner, and Stiles opens the door and gets into the front seat, slamming the door behind him. When Derek’s buckled and leaving the parking lot, Stiles asks, “Why are you still coming around?”

“Huh?” 

“Why are you still bothering? Why are you still coming by every night, climbing onto my roof, telling me stories about your family, taking me to _your_ diner?”

“I thought you were okay with it,” Derek says carefully, his expression guarded as he watches the road.

“You don’t have to big brother me, you know. I’ve never had a big brother, and I don’t need one now.” Stiles turns his back on Derek, and stares out at the night. Derek doesn’t respond, just turns up the volume on the radio in an attempt to diffuse the awkwardness.

When Derek pulls up in front of Stiles’ house, Derek puts a hand on Stiles’ arm before he can get out of the car. Stiles glares at him in irritation.

“I’m not big brothering you,” Derek says. “It’s not like that.”

“Fine, whatever.” Stiles gets out of the car, and immediately goes upstairs. 

He tries to squash any wisps of hope that maybe Derek was trying to tell him something.

*

“Stilinski!” Finstock yells as Stiles is setting up a play with Danny and Isaac at lacrosse practice. Stiles jogs off the field and stops in front of Finstock. 

“Yeah?”

“I graded your econ test,” he says.

Stiles just about trips over his feet even though he’s standing completely still. “Really? How was it? Was it bad? It was bad, wasn’t it? Don’t tell me, I can’t handle it.”

“See for yourself.” Finstock shoves a piece of paper at him. Stiles screws his eyes shut, afraid to look. Finally, he peeks.

In bright red is a large 91.

“A?” Stiles gasps. “I made an A?”

“It would have been higher if you wouldn’t have gone off on a tangent about constellations and star systems when you were supposed to be talking about supply and demand.” Finstock slaps him hard on the arm. “Good to have you back, Stilinski.”

Finstock’s praise feels good…and very fucking odd at the same time. Stiles shakes it off and hands him back the test before running onto the field to find Scott and tell him the good news.

*

Stiles feels kinda pathetic sitting on the roof, hoping that Derek will just show up. They hadn’t spoken since Stiles angrily left the car a few nights before. It’s not like they text like friends or anything, and Stiles hadn’t been on the roof since that night. He just hopes his stupidity didn’t screw up whatever he had going on with Derek.

Around 9:30, Stiles hears the quiet sound of Derek’s boots scraping against the side of the house right before he hoists himself onto the roof. The relief he feels overwhelms him.

“I didn’t think you’d show.” Derek sits down beside Stiles without answering. They sit in silence for a few moments before Stiles asks, “Why are you here?”

“Why are you?”

“My roof, remember?”

Stiles lays back, doesn’t really care why Derek is there as long as he is. If this is all he gets with Derek, stolen moments on the rooftop in the dark, then he’ll take it. Flutters fill his core when Derek lies back beside him.

Derek lifts his hand and points to the sky. “That’s Ursa Major,” he says, “The constellation with the Big Dipper in it.”

“What?” Stiles turns to look at Derek instead of the sky where Derek’s pointing. Derek glances at him and grabs his hand, lifting it above them and uncurling Stiles’ index finger until he’s pointing.

“And that one, the one that looks like an M or W?” Derek says, eyes back on the sky, “is Cassiopeia.”

Stiles is so surprised that he just stares at Derek for a moment before turning his attention towards the sky. He follows the line of sight to where Derek is pointing his hand. At first, he just sees a smattering of stars, but then Derek starts moving his hand. It takes Stiles a moment to realize that Derek is drawing the outline of the constellation for him. It takes Derek a few more run-throughs before Stiles sees it.

“I think I’ve found it,” Stiles says. “The M.”

Derek nods, his head so close to Stiles’ that he can feel the soft hairs brushing against his face. Then, Derek takes Stiles’ hand and drags it perpendicular across the sky. “That,” Derek starts as he begins drawing the outline, “is Cepheus. It’s named – “

“After an Ethiopian King from Greek mythology,” Stiles supplies. 

“But it’s commonly referred to as a house because of the shape of the five major stars.” Derek holds tight to Stiles’ hand as he traces the outline in the night sky. 

Stiles stops caring about stars and turns his face towards Derek. Derek is close, so close, and when Derek looks at him, only inches remain between their faces.

Stiles isn’t sure if he moves forward or if Derek does, but the next thing he knows is that they’re kissing. It’s soft, gentle presses of their lips together, at first chaste and sweet. Derek moves his hand and laces their fingers as he brings it down to rest on his chest. 

Stiles rolls onto his side for better access, and Derek opens his mouth slightly, and that’s all the invitation Stiles needs. Tentatively, he slides his tongue against Derek’s parted lips, and when Derek’s warm tongue touches his, it’s like thousands of tiny explosions inside of his body.

When Stiles breaks the kiss, he looks over at Derek in wonder. He thinks he should be confused, but really, it just makes sense and feels right.

“You learned constellations for me,” Stiles whispers. 

“I was tired of pretending,” Derek says. “I’ve never been good with my imagination and making up things.”

“Good for us that I’m _ace_ at that stuff.”

Derek smiles before he leans forward and brushes his mouth against Stiles’ gently. “You need time,” Derek says. “You’ve just begun healing.”

Stiles shakes his head. “Nope. I’m good, this is good, kissing is good, and your hands on any part of my body, preferably down south, would be even better.”

Derek chuckles and reaches out to run his fingers through Stiles’ hair. “You need to heal,” Derek says again. “So this, us, just needs to go slow.”

Stiles makes a disgruntled noise, and Derek laughs. “Can the kissing still happen?”

Derek nods. “Oh definitely. I’m on board with the kissing.”

They kiss for awhile longer, Stiles scooting closer and closer to Derek and his body heat. Derek’s arms are strong and comforting around him, and his mouth is pure bliss. The stubble scratches his cheeks, and Stiles laughs quietly when Derek’s fingers flitter around his sides. As he kisses Derek, his body starts responding, an erection slowly growing. 

But Stiles knows Derek is right. He has just started sleeping through most of the night again, the nightmares coming only a few times a week. His laughs were genuine when he hung out with Scott and Isaac, and his dad was looking less worried each day. As much as Stiles wants to climb Derek like a tree right there on the roof, he is content to just kiss and touch and be with Derek. 

There’ll be time for everything else later; Derek isn’t going anywhere.

When Stiles finally pulls away, he settles himself in Derek’s arms, and then lifts Derek’s hand and points it to the sky. 

“Show me something else,” Stiles whispers.

Derek kisses his temple, and outlines the sky.

-fin

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr, if you'd like to come flail about sterek and hoechlin :D](http://thepsychicclam.tumblr.com)


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